


Bleak Woods

by wholemleko



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Death, Multi, and i'll probably add more tags as i add chapters, and theyre all a bit older, au where snufkin moomin and little my have never met, i have 1 oc in this also, there's vague mentions of moomin x snorkmaiden, tragic ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:21:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholemleko/pseuds/wholemleko
Summary: Moomin decides to go traveling on his own for the first time, but gets hopelessly lost. However, he stumbles across a fellow traveler, Snufkin, and all seems to be well. This changes when Moomin finds a mysterious tower, and what Moomin thinks is a small wrongdoing turns out to be a mistake that follows him and those he cares about wherever they go.
Relationships: Lilla My | Little My/Snorkfröken | The Snork Maiden, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Fellow Traveler

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my second Moomin fanfic! I'm happier with the idea of this one than my first, but, I must warn that it's a much darker story and if you want something lighthearted, this story is not it, there is no happy ending. That being said, if you read this, I hope you enjoy it!

Moomin blinked open his eyes, cuts and bruises stinging from where he'd gotten scraped by stray rocks and twigs. He lay in a heap at the bottom of a steep slope, his possessions scattered around him every which way. Cool drops of water sprayed over him from the fast moving river only a pace or two ahead of him, and he shivered as it seeped into his fur. Looking back, that "shortcut" was a sure mistake, Moomin thought as he sat up, brushing the dirt and leaves from himself as best he could. Ah, great. He'd have to go about picking everything up now—his messily packed bag had come undone during his fall, and now everything was everywhere.

The following half hour or so Moomin spent away searching the slope and all the bushes and undergrowth for anything he might have lost, gathering everything in a little pile on the riverbank. Hopefully he hadn't missed anything.

Once he was certain he'd retrieved whatever had fallen out of his bag, he began to rearrange it all as best he could. And just his luck, it was then he realized he was missing something—his map was nowhere to be seen. It couldn't have been something less useful, no, it was his map, and he had no idea where he was going without it!

Still, he continued his search about the slope, and along the edge of the river. It was then that he spotted it, the folded paper caught between two large stones in the rushing water. Moomin let out an audible groan and he ran over to the bank, and with some difficulty, he picked his way over the slick stones nearer to it. The water rushed over his paws in some places, soddening his already damp fur and plastering it flat to his wrists. He got as close as he could without risking falling in—the current was enough to sweep him away if he were to fall—and he reached out, and his fingers just barely brushed the edge of the paper when a heavy rush of water struck the row of stones, sending a bursting wave into the air. Moomin's paws slipped from the stones and in a frantic tumble he fell half into the water, clinging to one of the stones with just an arm to keep him from being dragged away. Moomin sputtered as the water stung his lungs and throat, and he scrambled to pull himself back up to a steady position. He was completely soaked through now, and dreadfully cold. And bits of his map were caught between rocks, the greater part of it torn to shreds and gone.

Just his luck. Moomin sat perched on the stones for a time, staring at the stones and the water as if somehow he could materialize a new map for himself just by glaring hard enough.

It was probably a mistake to go out wandering as he did. It had taken a lot of convincing his parents to leave alone at all, and he'd sworn to them that he knew what he was doing. He figured that the camping trips he'd gone on with his father had been enough to teach him, but really, he had no idea what he was doing at all.

There was no trail here to follow, and Moomin had gone on far enough that the area was entirely unknown to him. His best shot at this point was to retrace his steps to a place he could recognize, he figured. This couldn't be too bad, could it?

Moomin clambered back across the stones to the riverbank, careful not to slip again. He took up his pack, and climbed the slope he'd fallen down back to his original path. He could certainly remember where he'd passed that day. All would be well. It was fine.

Except that it wasn't. By the late afternoon, when the sun peered between the endless trunks of trees, and the shadows seemed endlessly long, Moomin found that that path he'd been so certain of was not so certain any longer. He was sure he'd gone the right way... but nothing looked familiar, and when he passed an outcrop of rock he knew he'd never seen before, it dawned on him that he was truly lost.

He shivered. It was growing cold.

He stood motionless in the middle of the woods, full of silence, and the sun continued its trek towards the horizon. And finally, the panic began to settle in. A bright, hollow panic that sent his heart racing. Moomin couldn't remember seeing anyone around for several days, he had no idea which way was home, and the only way he knew how to navigate was lost. Perhaps he could just walk in one direction and hope to run into something or someone. It seemed the only option, with what little knowledge he had.

There was no use standing around then, he figured. Oh, but the day was ending, and he had to set up camp. But perhaps it was early enough still to at least walk a little farther? He had some clue at least which direction to walk in based on the sun, and the urge to head home immediately screamed in the back of his mind.

He was quick to give in. He went along what he figured as best he could was north, promising himself he wouldn't wait too long to set up a campsite for the night.

The shadows stretched enough now that even his own seemed as tall as those of the trees, and the fallen leaves glowed a deep orange in the sunset light. Every now and then a bird would cry out, but their calls grew fewer and fewer as the night drew nearer, and the air only grew colder.

Moomin trudged onwards, feeling a drowsiness beginning to set it. The crunch of dry leaves beneath his feet was lulling him to sleep, it felt. That, and the hum of the wind in the trees—it was like music. Moomin looked up at the trees to watch the branches, now shedding their leaves, sway gently— but was shocked to find them entirely still.

Moomin froze in his tracks and stared. Without his footsteps to muddle the sounds around him, he realized that hum that he supposed was the wind was in fact not the wind at all, and he suddenly felt very silly for it. It was music, actual music. A soft, airy and upbeat song, somewhere in the distance, echoing in the vast emptiness. And the more Moomin listened, the more he found it sounded nothing like the wind at all.

A sense of relief flooded him—he was not alone in this forest after all, and perhaps whoever was behind this gentle tune would lend him a hand, and maybe even some directions, or best of all, a map.

Moomin fell into a quick jog, ears swiveling around as he pinpointed the exact direction of the music's source. He prayed whatever creature he'd find would be a kind one.

He sped down several slopes, slipping and stumbling every now and then, and grabbing hold of tree trunks to regain his balance. On the fourth or fifth slope—he hadn't payed much attention to it—he peered over its peak to see a small camp set up. It seemed empty at first, and it took him a moment to notice the small figure, donning a tattered green smock and hat, perched on the low branch of a tree, softly playing a song on a harmonica.

Moomin eyed the place. It seemed non-threatening enough, he decided. He crept forth, hands behind his back, trying to look casual and confident, hoping this stranger would neither run away nor attack him as he neared.

Halfway down the slope towards the camp, the stranger looked up, eyes locking with Moomin's, and he sat there, very still for a moment. Moomin too, froze and stared. For what felt like too long, they remained in total, unmoving silence.

"Uh, hello," Moomin said at last.

"Good evening," the stranger responded with a tip of the hat. "May I help you?"

"I was just wondering," Moomin began, eyes flickering back and forth from the woods, to the ground, to the stranger, growing sheepish by the second, "see, I've gotten myself lost and—well, I was hoping you might have some directions, or something, or maybe you know this area..."

"Well—" the stranger began to descend from his perch, claws digging into the bark as he went, "I think I may be able to help. If you aren't in a hurry, would you like some tea?"

Moomin perked up at this. "Oh, yes, yes please," he replied readily. The stranger made his way towards his tent and Moomin eagerly followed.

"My name's Snufkin, by the way," the stranger said. "You?"

"Moomin. Thank you, for the tea," Moomin said as Snufkin entered his tent, shuffling about.

"It's no problem," Snufkin responded. He emerged from his tent with a small pouch and two tin cups.

There was a stretch of silence between the two as Snufkin prepared the tea over his small fire, and Moomin made himself comfortable sitting on a nearby stone. The amber light from the sunset was steadily turning blue, the warm light now being captured only by the fire and the glow it left on the ground and on Snufkin's face as he watched the water boil. He seemed entirely at ease as he sat fixated, his eyes bright like the embers themselves. Moomin couldn't quite understand what was so fascinating about watching water boil, but he figured it would be a strange thing to ask, and so he sat without a word. Beginning to fidget a bit as restlessness crept up his legs.

"So," Moomin broke the silence at last as Snufkin poured the hot water into the tin cups, the dried leaves at the bottom swirling like tiny hurricanes. "where've you been traveling to?" He struggled to think of good conversation material, but he couldn't take the silence for much longer either.

"I don't have a destination, really," Snufkin replied, handing Moomin one of the cups.

"Just traveling for traveling's sake?" Moomin asked, recalling his father's stories.

Snufkin nodded.

"Oh, do you by chance have any sugar?" Moomin asked just as Snufkin began to sit on the ground nearby.

"Oh, sorry. I don't keep any with me," Snufkin responded.

"Ah." Moomin frowned and stared at his tea, swishing it about in the cup and watching the leaves drift with the movement.

"What brings you out here?" Snufkin asked.

"Oh! Well, I would say the same as you, not really going anywhere in particular. Just kind of exploring the world, I guess?" Moomin looked up to the now navy sky above, the first stars beginning to peer down through the interlaced branches above. Most of the leaves here were now gone as autumn passed. "I lost my map, and well, I was going to go home, but perhaps I don't need to after all? That—That's not to say I don't know what I'm doing, I know what I'm doing alright, I just need to figure out where I have to go..."

Snufkin chuckled a bit at Moomin's ramble and Moomin felt heat rush to his face. "I see. Well, I can show you my map, but I'm afraid I don't have any to spare if you need to keep one."

"Oh," Moomin responded in dismay. He took a sip of tea and hissed as the hot water scalded his tongue. He glanced over to Snufkin's cup that was already half empty. His eyes drifted up to the soft profile of Snufkin's face, and his gaze lingered perhaps a bit too long before he stared back down at his tea.

Moomin had to admit, he felt a great deal more confident now that he wasn't wandering about all by himself, and perhaps he wouldn't go home after all, if he could just figure out and maybe memorize a trail to someplace he could get a new map, wherever that may be. Perhaps Snufkin might even let him tag along, wherever it was he was going to.

"Have you traveled much before now?" Snufkin asked, drawing Moomin from his thoughts.

"Well, this is my first time traveling alone, but I did go camping a few times with my father! Though, I guess we never did go very far..." Moomin admitted, taking another sip of his tea and letting his eyes wander to the distant woods, where the world was swallowed in the night.

"I see..." Snufkin murmured. Another silence followed before he spoke again, as if he could read Moomin's thoughts. "Would you like to come along with me, until we reach a more populated area?"

Moomin's ears perked up. "Why, yes! That would be wonderful, ah—" Moomin stopped himself, heat rushing to his face once more—he'd sounded much too excited. "I mean. Thank you, that is..."

"I should warn you that this area isn't particularly safe. So try to stick around close by, would you?"

Moomin felt a coldness run up his spine, and suddenly he wasn't so comfortable with his back facing the dark openness of this unfamiliar forest. "I'll be sure to," he replied.

The rest of the evening they spent in relative silence. Moomin at a loss for words, and Snufkin seemingly not much the type for conversation. But he was friendly nonetheless, and Moomin found himself quickly taking a liking to him.

The night crawled on, the navy sky turning a deeper black, and through the trees, countless stars were visible. It was one of Moomin's favorite sights to behold—regardless of how many times he'd seen it. The endless glittering space above them and the wash of silver moonlight that shed itself onto the branches and lichen. Like a frost.

As Moomin and Snufkin prepared for sleep, Snufkin having helped Moomin set up his own tent, Moomin pointed out just how lovely the sky was, unable to contain his love for it.

"It is very wonderful," Snufkin agreed, the faintest of smiles crossing his face.

Moomin found himself studying the ways that the moonlight reflected off Snufkin's eyes, the way they seemed to glow. Just as they had with the light of the fire earlier.

A chorus of insects filled what otherwise would have been total silence, and it was comforting in a way, easing the fear Moomin had felt from Snufkin's prior warning. It certainly made the woods seem a great deal less empty. And far from desolate. They felt very much alive.

As Moomin finished preparing for sleep, he spotted Snufkin standing in the middle of the clearing of their small camp, staring up at the sky just as before. Quietly, Moomin approached, feeling something not unlike electricity flowing through him as he fidgeted with his paws. He tapped Snufkin on the shoulder.

Snufkin startled in response, and Moomin froze, quickly withdrawing his paw back to his side as though he'd burnt himself.

"Oh! S-Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you there!" Moomin exclaimed, noting how Snufkin's eyes had gone from peaceful to round with alarm almost instantly.

Snufkin straightened up and the fright drained from his eyes, his face relaxing back to the gentle expression it usually bore. "No worries, I didn't hear you coming, is all," Snufkin assured. "Is there something you need?"

"Oh, I was just wondering if you were gonna sleep now, well, I am," Moomin fumbled with his words, "so I just wanted to say, thank you, for helping me and such and letting me stick around. And, goodnight!" Moomin gave a nervous smile.

Snufkin smiled back, a small, warm smile. "It's my pleasure, I'm glad to help. Goodnight."

Moomin felt a tension within him release at that, and contented, he crawled into his tent, zipping it up behind him. What stroke of luck he'd had!

~ * ~

A great clattering shook Moomin out of his sleep the following morning. It was followed by a frustrated groan and a furious sizzling sound that got Moomin's ears twitching as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He pulled himself out of bed and unzipped his tent to see Snufkin standing over the campfire, glowering at a cast iron pan that had fallen into the fire, along with the charred remains of what must have been whatever it was Snufkin was preparing for breakfast.

"Oh goodness," Moomin said as he clambered out of his tent, his foot getting caught on one of the canvas flaps. He nearly fell flat on his snout, but quickly recovered, his face flushing in embarrassment.

"Ah, good morning," Snufkin said, looking up. There was laughter in his eyes.

Moomin dusted himself off indignantly. "Good morning. What's happened?"

"Well," Snufkin put his paws on his hips and peered down at the pan, "my breakfast plans have been foiled. I dropped the last of my smoked fish right into the flames. But, it's alright, I can catch some more. I didn't have much planned for today either way."

Moomin nodded, approaching the fire and examining the burnt bits of fish scattered amongst the charred wood and embers, slowly being licked away by the orange flames.

"That's a match wasted, but oh well," Snufkin mumbled as he began to kick sand over the fire. Moomin joined in, and soon enough the fire was indeed extinguished. Without a word, Snufkin entered his tent once more. Shuffling sounds could be heard from within, and he reemerged with a fishing pole and a small case in hand. He began to make his way out of the camp.

"You wouldn't mind if I came along, would you?" Moomin asked.

"I think it should be alright. The stream is fairly close by," Snufkin said.

And indeed it was, just over the crest of another slope, near enough that anyone sneaking about the camp would surely be heard in the relative stillness of the forest.

All around, the world was filled with soft reds and oranges, with a splash of green every now and then where a small pine tree grew between the other trees, with their crowns thinning and their branches turning bare. Handfuls of birds would dash to and fro, singing as they went, and the leaves and withering undergrowth might rustle and shake as a small creature scurried beneath their cover.

Snufkin seated himself on the bank of a silvery stream and began to prepare a lure. Moomin figured this stream must connect at some point to the river that had swept his map away. He sat beside Snufkin and examined the contents of the little case he'd brought along, his eyes caught by the bright colors of what he assumed were little pieces of bait. But soon enough, his attention was drawn to movement in a tussock of grass, and his gaze fixated on a small lizard sunning itself on the leaf of a dandelion. Slowly and carefully, Moomin reached towards it, taking in its every movement. And then he struck, cupping the little thing in his paws before it could scurry away.

"Snufkin! Snufkin look—" Moomin said excitedly, his tail lashing rapidly. "I caught a lizard..."

"Oh?" Snufkin turned from the stream to look at Moomin's paws.

Slowly, Moomin opened up his palms, and there the lizard was, sitting in apprehension, eyes flicking about every which way. A split second later, it darted off his paws and away beneath the leaves.

"A lovely little creature," Snufkin remarked, smiling, before turning back to his fishing.

"Yeah," Moomin said, searching about the ground for anything else he might capture. "I don't see them all that much around the valley where I live, but it is fun to catch them when I have the chance."

Snufkin nodded and sat patiently still.

Moomin looked up to the branches around them, and out into the forest beyond. "I might go walk around a little, but I won't go far."

"Alright then. But don't get lost!" Snufkin said as Moomin stood.

He padded along the edge of the stream until he reached a part narrow enough to hop over. He looked about, and decided on following a narrow ditch that seemed to have once been another stream that had since dried away. Roots stuck out of the jagged earth here and there, and the sunlight shimmered as the breeze shook the branches above. Moss and lichen covered the trunks of the trees, and here and there, mushrooms formed tiny staircases in the bark. No, this forest was not so empty after all. A spiderweb reflected iridescent sunlight from its place, woven between two spindly stalks sprouting from the base of a large ash tree. Moomin skipped along his chosen route, taking in his surroundings.

Eventually the ditch came to an end where a cluster of rounded stones sat in a heap. Moomin paused, scanning the area.

Some ways away, a tall, dark shape loomed amongst the trees. It couldn't have been a dead tree, it was much too straight and much too wide, and there was not a branch jutting out from it.

Moomin neared, looking about warily, nervousness and curiosity alike crawling up his spine. Soon enough, he could see that it was in fact a dark stone tower. The stones had been cut very cleanly it seemed, though time had worn away at its corners. Moomin stared up in bewilderment at the top, which ended in a sharp point, giving the whole thing a shape not unlike a unicorn's horn. He circled about its base, and there he came across a narrow iron door with writing engraved across its face, also worn away and in a language Moomin couldn't read.

Abandoning better judgment, Moomin pulled at the door's cold handle, and with a bit of difficulty, it creaked open.


	2. The Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, sorry it's a bit short. Let's just say Moomin isn't great at making decisions here.

It took a moment for Moomin's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the inside of the tower. When at last the dark stone spiral stairs became visible, Moomin could see it was almost as if the air inside the tower itself were glowing, lending dim blue light to the walls and stairs. Moomin stood, frozen for a time, deliberating. Snufkin's warning and advisory not to wander repeated through his mind and yet... curiosity called him forth.

The stone was cold beneath Moomin's paws as he made his way up the stairs. The higher he went—and the tower seemed a great deal bigger from the inside than it did from the outside—the colder he felt. He could see steam billowing from his every breath as he went, and the walls began to glitter with a thin layer of frost.

At last, he reached the top of the staircase. He emerged into a small circular room that seemed entirely empty at first, filled only with that dim glow. He glanced about, the floor and walls were empty, the ceiling—

Moomin froze. Like a spider crouched in the corner where two walls and a ceiling meet, a massive statue clung to the stone above where the tower came to a point. Its body seemed amorphous, whatever it was supposed to be, with a pair of small, round eyes without pupils and two long fangs like a walrus' tusks. Moomin took a deep breath to calm his hammering heartbeat. It was just a statue.

At least, he thought.

"Little one," a disembodied voice echoed from all around.

Moomin's legs gave out from beneath him and he curled up on the floor. He glanced about frantically for the source of the voice. But the room was as empty as it had been before.

"Don't be so frightened." There was a laugh. The voice was not like any Moomin had heard before, equally deep and rumbling as it was high and chiming, like millions of ice crystals falling from a heavy wind in a snow-covered forest. "I'm not going to hurt you. I am just another creature of the forest, and perhaps not as small and pretty as a lizard, but this place is no less my home."

Moomin didn't speak. He fixed his eyes on the statue above, but it remained motionless.

"It's as if this were my shell, and I'm a snail. A really big one, that is."

"W-What do you want from me?" Moomin managed to choke out.

"Well, you've walked into my home. What would you do if a stranger entered your house? Would you watch them in silence milling about?"

"Well..." Moomin considered this.

"I'm not upset with you, don't worry. My home isn't very good-looking, but you're welcome here."

"I—um, I should really get going, sorry about this," Moomin said as he began to stand, backing towards the stairs. "Y-You see, I can't stay long, not at all, I'm quite a ways away from home, and I need to get back as soon as possible, sorry to say, but thank you though, I—"

"As soon as possible? I can help you with that," the voice interrupted. "Now, rumor has it you were searching for help getting home, and so you went to that Snufkin fellow."

"How do you know that?" Moomin asked warily.

"Word travels, the birds told me," the voice replied simply. "If you do me a small favor, I can send you right home immediately. You won't have to travel at all. I just need you to bring me Snufkin's yellow scarf."

"What use could you have for a yellow scarf?" Moomin asked.

"It is cold here, is it not?"

"Well, as far as I can tell, you don't even have a body to wear it on!" Moomin objected.

"Why, I'm invisible!" The voice said.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't thought..." Moomin fretted, realizing he may have offended the inhabitant of this tower. The thought of being able to go home instantly was a nagging temptation in the back of his mind. No need to worry about slip-ups like by the river. No need to worry about food, or the weather. He could go straight back to the warmth of his home, with his mother and father. "If you don't mind I ask, what's your name?"

"You can call me Tusk. And you?"

"...Moomin."

"It's nice to meet you, Moomin. Now, would you like me to send you home?"

Moomin looked down to the frost-coated floor. Something felt wrong, and yet it seemed such a simple solution, and all he had to do was bring this Tusk fellow a scarf. It didn't seem unreasonable, come to think of it. A scarf for the cold tower-dweller in return for a ticket straight home.

"Alright then, I guess," Moomin said at last. "I'll come by tonight with the scarf."

"Thank you," the voice said, laced with relief. "You're the first in a long while to be so kind..."

"It's no problem," Moomin said. "I'll be off now, see you later."

"Goodbye, Moomin," the voice responded as Moomin began to make his way back down the spiral stairs. He shivered.

Moomin's eyes watered as he emerged from the tower into he bright, golden light of day. He'd almost forgotten it was daytime entirely, it had been so very dark. It was a very strange encounter to say the least, and Moomin couldn't shake off the fright from it or swallow the worry that something was amiss. But, Moomin pushed away the thought, and did his best to gear his attention to the prospect of being home, and out of this mess of a trip he'd hoped to take. He thought of the cozy little kitchen, and the smell of his mother's baking. His father sitting quietly, reading. The vast, open meadows of the valley. Oh, his parents would probably scold him once he'd gotten back, they'd tell him they'd told him so—he wasn't ready to go wandering off on his own in such unfamiliar land. But at least he'd be home.

Moomin wondered how such a discussion would go down with his parents as he followed the long ditch back towards the stream. He could hear it already, and soon enough, he spotted its silvery surface and Snufkin with his pointy green hat, still sitting beside it, patient as ever.

Snufkin... He'd been so kind, and now Moomin was going to disappear in the middle of the night. Moomin felt guilt bubble up in his chest as he hopped over the stream and made his way back to his prior spot, where he'd caught the lizard.

"How was your little walk?" Snufkin asked. His eyes met Moomin's, and Moomin could swear he saw relief flash over his face as he smiled slightly.

"It was alright, the forest really is very nice," Moomin said, hoping the nervousness he felt crawling up his spine wouldn't show in his expression.

"Did you see anything interesting?"

Moomin shifted uncomfortably and looked down to the stream. "Not really. Saw some nice spiderwebs and plants though."

"Spiderwebs are very nice," Snufkin mused, returning to his fishing.

How could Moomin hope to disappear without so much as a proper thank you? He pulled up a pawful of grass, and let the loose stalks fall away into the stream to be carried off by its current.

~ * ~

Night fell over the little camp. The two had eaten fish for every meal that day, and while it was quite good, Moomin felt he couldn't bear to live on a purely fish diet for the rest of his travels. As darkness took over, they prepared for sleep as they had the night before.

"Goodnight," Moomin said just as Snufkin was about to enter his tent.

"Goodnight," Snufkin responded, tipping his hat. He disappeared into his tent and Moomin turned to his.

And there, Moomin stayed up writing a letter.

_Dear Snufkin,_

_Thank you very much for helping me out as you did. It was very kind of you, especially to help me when you didn't even know me. I hope I can repay you somehow, I hope we can run into each other again someday. But I have to go, and I won't see you again to say thank you any other way. You see—I found someone who could send me straight home without me having to travel at all. I really do appreciate your help, don't get me wrong, I just think it's probably for the better I go now, and I don't want to burden you with my mess-ups anyway._

_Thank you again,_

_Moomin_

_P.S. I'm very sorry, my end of the deal to go home was that I had to give your scarf to this Tusk fellow. He lives in an awfully cold tower, I hope you don't mind I've given it to him._

Moomin prayed it was enough. He folded the letter in thirds and began to pack up his possessions. As quietly as he could, he took down his tent an gathered any other stray belongings.

The forest seemed terribly ominous at night, now that the fire was out, and Snufkin was asleep. Moomin felt an awful loneliness settle over him as he gazed out into the moonlit expanses of endless trees. His only company was the steady hum of the crickets that hid in the undergrowth, and the distant rushing of the stream.

With great care, Moomin made his way to Snufkin's tent and lodged the letter under the entrance of it. He took a deep breath, anxiety prickling in his pelt like static. And as quietly as he could manage, he unzipped Snufkin's tent and crept inside. How on earth he'd find this scarf, he didn't know. He could barely see with nothing but the moonlight, and the inside of the tent was nearly pitch black. Moomin could just barely see the outlines of everything in the tent, and he prayed he wouldn't step on Snufkin on accident. He felt around, careful not to push anything over, until he thought he felt cloth beneath his paws. He felt for the shape of the scarf, until he was sure he'd found it—soft and narrow, a bit tattered about the edges. And with that, Moomin began to make his way out of the tent once more, careful not to catch his foot on the tent again as he had with his own that morning.

He stole one final glance behind him to Snufkin's tent before taking up his bag and hurrying away, back towards the stream, the ditch, the tower.

The trees loomed high above, their intertwined branches not unlike bony fingers crossed in prayer. The stars shone above, just as beautiful as ever. The image of Snufkin's eyes lit up by the moonlight and the firelight flashed through Moomin's mind, and the scarf in his paws seemed to weigh a hundred times more. But... surely Snufkin would understand. It was just a strip of yellow fabric after all. Moomin hurried along. Something was nagging at him, a wariness, as if he were being followed, but he didn't dare to stop. In fact, he began to run, for fear that whatever could be pursuing him would pounce on his back and devour him. He glanced back briefly and saw nothing, but he couldn't shake off the fear.

The tower could be seen now, a black point against the sky. Moomin picked up his pace for the final stretch. He jerked the door open and it let out the most dreadful metallic screech and Moomin was sure his heart would burst from fright. He'd be home soon, he told himself, soon. He raced up the stairs, not caring for the sting of the cold surfaces, and nearly collapsed when he reemerged into the room at the top.

"Here, Tusk, sir," he huffed, out of breath. He held out the scarf.

The statue loomed above, always watching in its stillness.

"You've done well, little Moomin," the voice sounded.

Moomin waited expectantly for this invisible Tusk fellow to take the scarf from his outstretched paw. But as the seconds went by, nothing happened. Moomin glanced about, his ears swiveling every which way in the hopes of pinpointing where exactly Tusk's voice was coming from anyway. "It's here. The scarf? You said you needed it?"

Only silence replied.

"Tusk?"

Moomin's voice echoed against the frost-covered walls.

"Tusk?"

Panic began to rise up Moomin's spine and his legs went numb. "Hello? The scarf! I have the scarf!" He cried out. He had to go home. He had to go home. He'd done what he was told, where'd Tusk gone? He'd been there just a moment before.

Moomin clutched the scarf against his chest, his eyes watering. The image of Snufkin smiling down at him as he fished flashed through his mind. _I'm a stupid fool..._

There was a quiet snarl. Moomin's whole form froze as if the cold itself had turned him into ice. With all his willpower, he turned to look back to the stairwell. With movements like a wisp of smoke, and not a sound more than the snarl, a creature like a glassy wolf seemed to float up the stairs.


End file.
